Trapeze Terror
by Narroch
Summary: He would never tire of the feeling of flying. But with trapeze, as with life, when you fly there is always the chance of falling. Memory haunts... Now with a hint of RobinxStarfire
1. Falling

I woke up this morning and realized that today was a very special day. It's my co-writer Robinrocks's 18th birthday! And I knew I had to write something for her. A thank you, or dedication, or birthday present, or whatever you want to call it.

So I was all like "Shazam! Let's do it! Fanfic for a friend!"

But my brain said "I got nothing."

And my muse was like "But I'm le tired…"

And my conscious sent a telegram "Don't you have a research paper to do?"

So I decided to do it by myself. Inspiration and writing blocks and school work be damned.

Robinrocks, this is for you. :)

--

"Spread your hands a little farther. There you go, shoulder width apart." Tiny fingers, still chubby with baby fat, gripped the wrapped metal bar. The arms belonged to a child, one that had barely grown big enough to stop being carried around by his father, and yet the boy was perched 30 feet up in the air on a small metal 2x4 platform.

He was preparing to jump from the dizzying height with nothing but a thin rope to hold him up.

And he couldn't be happier.

"Alright Dick, almost ready. Keep the bar at the base of your fingers, not the center of your palm." His father readjusted his hands to the correct position and then chuckled at the boy's overwhelming enthusiasm.

"You don't need to choke the life out of the bar to stay on. Just relax; it's like being on the static trapeze remember? Only now you are swinging with it, and the momentum actually makes the moves easier so you don't have to grip it so hard."

"I _know_ dad!" The little boy chirped, childish condensation in his lilt like voice. He had been training on the grounded static trapeze for weeks now, doing hangs, drops, and poses. He knew all the grips, the catches, and had memorized his parent's routine after viewing it so many times from the ground. He knew everything that a boy raised in a circus should know. He just lacked the experience. Something he would have had long ago if only the rigging were designed for children. His parents trusted the strength and safety of the equipment, but could do nothing about the limited reach of his arm. So he had been stuck with the ground work until he was big enough.

And even now he was at the very edge of the platform, on his tip toes, arms stretched as far as they could possibly reach, leaning out off the plank in order to hold the bar. He was barely even on the pedestal board in that position, and the only thing holding him in the precarious stance was his father's callused fingers hooked onto the back of his belt.

"OK. You're almost ready. Don't leap out, just jump straight up and the bar will pull you out so you won't hit the platform on the downswing."

Dick just gave an impatient huff, and looked back at his father with a reproachful eye. "I can do it dad…"

"Not with that bent over back you can't." Dick immediately straightened up as much as possible in his overreaching leaning position and looked forward.

"I want you to swing out, lift yourself on the rise back and put your knees over the bar, and then throw your arms out at the far end of the second swing."

"Like mom does when you catch her?"

"Yes, except no one is over on the cradle to catch you so I just want you to hang. You understand?"

"Yeah! Can I go now?"

"Alright. Here we go, one…two…three!"

His father released his grip, and Dick didn't even have to jump up. He instantly fell forwards and was pulled along the arc of tension from the rope, with gravity speeding him downwards on the curve. His eyes gathered tears from the wind howling past him and he felt his stomach hurdle up to his throat as he swung down to the trench of the bend.

And suddenly, he was flying upwards and he could feel his breath returning to him as he remembered _how_ to breathe. The ascension, the incredible, undeniable sensation of _soaring _was instilled within his tiny body at that second, and he knew that he would never tire of the exhilarating feeling.

This feeling of…

_flying…_

-

And falling…

The tampered carabineer warped and twisted until it snapped utterly, the rope lost its tautness and the glittered kaleido stars of the circus, the flying Graysons once celestial and untouchable in their thrilling lofty world of aerial silks and rosin dust, were loosed to the widening gyre- and Dick was lost to the blood-dimmed tide of horror that engulfed him.

Oncoming death is terrible enough, but worse still is the oncoming death with a few seconds to spare in which all the happiness that was yours, and all the happiness that might have been yours becomes clear to you. His eight year old self saw with utter lucidity all that he was about to lose. Losing a father whose guidance and help he depended on, who supported him as a tree trunk supports its branches. Losing a mother whose loving embrace and soft words comforted him, well, that was like losing the very sun above him.

He didn't know if there really was any blood or if he daubed it on later in his memory with a big brush. But he heard. Screams, gasps, a resounding thud that sounded wet, yet held a grotesque _crunchy_ quality to it. Deniability was lost when the acrobats, his parents, slammed down on the sawdust without a single bounce or tremor. The crowd cringed in upon itself and the only red in view was not leaking from their mangled forms-

But on his _own_ hands.

The rosin powder he had rubbed in only a few minutes before still retained its dark amber hued tint, and it stained his hands to a copper red brown as he tried to shield his eyes from the horror and was only faced with that color instead.

_On my own hands…_

_-_

Dick bolted awake, blubbering and quivering in a cold sweat, surrounded by twisted sweaty sheets. Tears were streaked down his unmasked face, framed by splayed ungelled hair. The nightmare was horrific, but it was always was; a flash of resonating terror that easily slithered back to the dark corner of his mind upon waking.

It was worse afterwards. When shame gnawed in his guts and opened up a festering wound in his chest, nestling guilt inside like a gangrene that would rot and destroy everything in him. Even the words with which to speak of his feelings of guilt would putrefy in the face of undeniable yet misplaced responsibility.

So he didn't speak of it. Not his parents, not the circus, not the feeling of flying along with them…

It stayed safely locked away only to be dredged up by nightmares in the night.


	2. Flying

Eh... What can I say? It has been two years.

YAY for random urges!

-

Dick was jolted out of the dream, out of himself, and back into the security of Robin; the name his waking mind had taken to mask the past from himself, try and hide the pain that never quite faded. His parent's brutal deaths, murders, were unthinkably horrific to an eight year old Dick, but to an older Robin, they were personal losses in the greater war against crime he had dedicated his life to fighting. It made their deaths no less tragic, but somehow sterilized them, turned them into a key that opened the door to his future as a hero. Donning the mantle of Robin separated himself from the birth name Richard, as well as the memories of the ones who had given it to him.

But sleep made him vulnerable, and dreams could peel the mask off easily.

He awoke in a sheen of cold sweat and trembles. Breath came in shaky staccato, and it took a long moment for the dream vertigo to die down enough for his stomach to crawl back out of his throat. He crumpled forward, cradling his head in his hands, riding out the final swells of terror that still pulsed through his body.

The dream always affected him like this, no matter how many times he experienced it, no matter how many years passed from the incident that created it, he always awoke in tears. And the incident itself was what made the dream so powerful, so terrifying, it wasn't just some phantom his mind conjured up, some imaginary monster under his bed, the shifting shadows of childhood fears that could be rationalized, conquered, outgrown. This dream was worse, not because it was a nightmare, but because it was a memory. A flashbulb imprint of horror so great it could never be over come. The recurring remembrance made him a child, made him an orphan and a tragedy all over again. It was something his mind, as clever as it was, could never have invented on its own.

During the day he could pummel away at a punching bag, lose himself in investigation notes, and surround himself with the people who had become his new family. He never forgot, but during the day, their loss seemed bearable, a tragic yet efficient spark plug for so many good deeds, so many heroic acts. But the stillness of night made his new identity melt- dripping down in ruined deformation- like celluloid dissolving under a drop of acid. The darkness stripped it away and left him with the raw loss and anguish. Every time, it _stripped_ him.

He gripped at his hair, pulling hard, reassuring himself with the pain before pushing the sticky tresses back. He wiped the tears away fiercely but could still feel their dampness on his skin, the moist sensation that still lingered in his eyes. There was no point in lying back down; he had learned from experience that sleep was a lost cause after the recurring dream. He had a few options: head to the gym for a grueling workout, the main room for mind numbing late night reruns, or a cold shower to wash the terror tinged sweat away. None were appealing. They were all lonely occupations that would only serve to accentuate his isolation rather than distract him from it.

What he really wanted was to go into the main room and be greeted by the team, start a food fight, maybe even a dog pile. He wanted to be surrounded by the warmth of his surrogate family, their presence reassuring him. But unless an alarm went off, that was impossible in the dead of night. He _almost _wished a criminal would be stupid enough to try something...

With a sigh he clambered out of bed and methodically began to remake it. It had been a habit trained into him, and he wasn't even conscious of it as he pulled the tangled sheets straight. The blue cotton pajama shirt he was wearing was starting to get cold, damp with chilled sweat, so he slipped it off and dropped it to the floor. He looked around his room, neat and orderly, except for the walls which were plastered with pictures, news articles, flow charts of data... On nights like this it all seemed so fake. What he was doing, the things he had accomplished, were all due to his parent's death, and the dream made it all seem tenuous. His lifestyle now wasn't worth their death. He had never even found their murderer.

He had not ever given them the justice they deserved.

His fists balled up and he simply hung his head as the thoughts continued to swirl, the membrane between then and now dissolving as the past mocked his future. It wasn't his fault, he knew that, had been told that many times by the circus people, the social workers, Bruce, Alfred... He _knew _that he wasn't to blame, but he never believed that there was nothing he could have done. He could not believe that their deaths were inevitable.

He shook his head trying to clear the dark thoughts but he couldn't remove the sense of unease that had settled in his chest. He had to get out of his room, away from the memories. He stepped out into the hallway which was dark except for the small blue lights spaced every few feet along the wall. It was cool, and completely still but for the ghosts still floating about his own head. He paced down the corridor stopping by the window at the end. He stared out at the city, the strings of lights forming a bright pearl necklace along the shoreline. It was beautiful really, and it was his to protect. He usually felt a swell of pride looking it at it, but tonight it just left him feeling cold. The bright glittering lights reminded him of sequins.

He pressed his forehead to the glass, let the coldness seep into his skin, wishing it could penetrate further into his brain. There was a sudden flash of red across the glass so abrupt and unexpected that it made him jolt back. He stared, mouth open just slightly, as Starfire soared up in a wide corkscrew outside, skimming close to the glass on each rotation. She wore her usual attire, bright purple material contrasting against her deep peach skin. With her long garnet hair, artistically touched by the wind, and her emerald jeweled eyes, Starfire was just as colorful as Robin's traffic light costume, but the clash never seemed gaudy. Her spirit attracted color, and her optimism made all of them compatible.

He continued to stare, taken aback at her sudden arresting presence. He had no idea why she was awake so late at night, but from the way she continued to fly in tighter and tighter figure eights, he knew she was excited about something. He gave a small sigh of relief. Her bubbly personality would have no problem washing the bloody dregs of nightmare from his mind. He started for the elevator.

-

The night was warm and sticky, the usual summer heat in Jump City. After the chill of AC it felt even thicker outside though Robin didn't mind, still wearing only his pajama pants. He had debated going back to his room to grab the top, but he wasn't sure how much longer Starfire was going to be out, and he didn't want to miss her.

He strode out across the roof, still watching her hover excitedly. She had just begun to do a loop when she noticed him, and instantly jerked to a halt with a happy squeal. She swooped down to him, her trademark smile even wider than normal.

"Oh Robin! It is so good to see you this night! I have made a glorious discovery and I wanted so desperately to share it with someone!" She paused, tilting her head slightly. "But why is Robin awake so late?"

"I... just couldn't sleep. I guess I wanted to be with someone tonight too." He gave what he thought was a reassuring smile but she continued to stare expectantly at him, waiting for the rest of what she could see written on his face. It was when her questioning gaze flickered downward to his bare chest that he quickly tried to divert her scrutinizing attention.

"So, Star, what was it that you found?" Her eyes snapped back up to his face and she immediately rose off the ground a few feet, clasping her hands together and beaming.

"It is the most wonderful thing! Today while we were watching the television, we found a show about astronomy and identifying constellations. From the information on the show I was able to identify some major indicator stars from my own part of the galaxy! I was never able to recognize any of the star patterns on Earth because the constellations are all different, but just now," she floated closer, her voice lowering to an excited hush, as if telling him a very important secret, "just now I was able to see my _home _star!"

She spun up and away, laughing and twirling in a fit of aerial joy. It had always been obvious that her emotions had direct control over her powers, and Robin had once wondered how much concentrated joy it took to keep her airborne. Was it a constant stream of thoughts and memories, or just a single constant emotion? Regardless, he could see that the excitement of finding a glimpse of her home on a strange and alien planet was enough to keep her up for days. The very thought of it seemed to make her involuntarily hover, it took more concentration on her part to clamp down on the feelings rather than work to harness them. He smiled at the thought, it suited her to always remain high with no fear of the gravity beneath her. Her spinning slowed as she raised her arm out to point at the swath of sky.

"There, it is that faint one to the right. That's the star for the Vengan system, and my home planet Tamaran. Can you see it Robin?"

He peered up to where she indicated, but could only see dim pinpricks of light that disappeared when he stared for too long. He shook his head slowly.

"I'm sorry Star, I can't pick anything out. The city is too bright, the light pollution washes the sky out."

She floated down next to him, tilting her head to see from his position.

"Hmmm, yes... Robin is correct, it is impossible to see it from down here," she murmured softly before turning to face him with another sudden smile, "But we don't have to stay here! Hold on tight Robin!" And without giving him any other warning she grasped his hands and took off, nearly dislocating his shoulders as she snatched him up. He jerked in surprise as the roof rapidly fell away, his bare feet dangling uselessly. He could hear Starfire laughing again, a pure musical sound sprinkled over the roar of wind in his ears as they spiraled up in wide loops.

"St-Starfire! Would you wait a second?! I can't just fly around like this half naked!"

She giggled again, mischievous notes dropped into the sound now.

"What's wrong Robin? I like you like this, no one else can see you up here." She tightened her grip, taunting and reassuring him at the same time. "Just relax Robin!"

_Just relax Dick_

"And hold on tight!"

_Hold it tight little man_

"I won't let you fall."

_We won't let you fall_

And Robin wasn't afraid of heights, he never had been, but the sudden merging of his two spheres of reality, the horror of memory that still hung fresh in his mind on top of the naked vulnerability of his current situation, made the vertigo swell up violently. There was no grappling hook, or safety net, or outstretched arms of an acrobat to catch him. There was nothing; if he fell, he would die. Hit the water just like his parents hit the sawdust arena.

"Star... I... I want to go back down," he managed to stammer out, embarrassed by his irrational fear but unable to fight it. The conditions were just right to overpower him.

"We are almost there! Just a moment longer!"

He looked up in time to face-plant the bottom of a cloud, instantly drenched in freezing droplets as they burst through.

The sky had changed from a grainy dark green to an inky blue black shot through with thousands of crystallized points of light freed from the contamination of the city. The entire universe was glowing around them, but Robin saw none of it. His mind was on an unstoppable back track and all he could see, all he was aware of, was the collective scream of the crowd, the rush of air from falling bodies, and the red staining his hands slowly covering him.

He screamed.

Starfire jerked to a halt, stunned by the sudden outburst. He trembled in her grip, trying to pull his legs up, curl in to protect himself, still gasping in quick breaths.

"Robin! What's wrong!"

"Please... Please, I-I can't... Please..."

"Please what? Robin what do you want?" She asked, rather panicked herself by his strange behavior.

"Don't let us fall... Don't let them fall... Please..."

They were motionless, hanging in the darkness like one of the many stars that surrounded them. Starfire slowly released one of his wrists, at which he gave an audible moan, before pulling him up with her freed hand. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him protectively to her.

"I do not understand Robin, why this has made you so upset, but I promise you, I will _not _let you fall, not now and not ever," she said fiercely, holding him even closer as she spoke.

He felt immediately safe encircled by her strength and warmth, and the memories slid back beneath the weight of her presence. But along with the sense of security came an acute embarrassment, a need to explain himself. He was a super hero! Super heroes, especially ex-circus member ones, did not freak out over a little height! But the damage was already done, and Starfire was holding him like he was something precious and fragile. Her arms around his waist, head tucked over his shoulder, spooning her body to his...

"Star... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to scare you... I just wasn't ready."

"What happened?"

He noticed they were slowly descending, still wrapped tightly together.

"I just... I had a bad dream. One that I used to have a lot," he paused, unsure whether to admit or not, if it would change anything between them. After a second he decided to add it on, "About how my parents died."

He wondered if it was even possible for her to understand. Always supported by her emotions, she would never know the true feeling of falling, the helpless terrifying plummet... But her eyes widened, grew kind and sad all at once.

"Oh Robin, I am truly sorry. If I knew this would cause you such pain to remember that horrible time, I never would have picked you up." They passed back down through the cloud, momentarily chilled by the liquid air.

"Star, it's okay, really. I am actually glad... I didn't want to be alone."

"You aren't alone. I know how scary it is to feel that way. I know how those dreams can hurt, bring the memories right out into the open."

He drew back to look at her, surprised by her words, before remembering that _she_ was an orphan too, without even the comfort of her own race around her. She lost her parents and her planet all at once.

"Star... I'm sorry," he said softly, at a loss for anything else to say.

"Don't apologize. It will not make the painful memories go away, and I would not want them to. And just because we have lost loved ones does not mean we can't create new family."

He smiled, thankful for her simple clarity.

"I think we have both found family here."

"Indeed."

They were both smiling, Robin's not as wide as Starfire's but still legitimate. The roof was growing closer and closer, and Robin felt none of the earlier fear, felt silly it had happened. However, wrapped in her strong arms, surrounded by her warm scent and given so many forgiving smiles, he couldn't muster up the mental energy to continue agonizing over lost face.

They touched down but remained close for more than a few seconds before Robin finally pulled away. He scratched at the back of his head.

"So... Wanna wait while I go swipe one of Cyborg's telescopes?"

She was immediately floating again, which Robin took as a 'yes'.

He started down the hall, thinking of his parents, not their deaths, but their lives. The guidance and lessons they taught him, the love they lavished on him in hugs, kisses, and little chocolate bars, their laughter, their smiles, every enjoyable facet of their time with him. He encapsulated it all and held it tightly, using its light to push back the darker memories.

Starfire was right. He didn't want to forget them. Not anything, not even the bad. They would be proud of what he was doing, and of the family who had not taken their place, but rather, grown out from their love for him. It was reflected in his friends, and in Starfire's eyes.

Because even when he fell, there was always the possibility of flying.

-

Yea... I will be the first to admit that I don't like writing dialog. And Starfire, as much fun as she is, her speech pattern is frustrating... :/

I was going to write a sex scene, or at least that was the original plan two years ago, but now I am kinda glad I didn't. This is disjointed and ooc-angsty enough as it is without random comfort sex. I maintain they were both virgins until after Trouble in Tokyo, it was so obvious from the way they interacted with each other, flirty and embarrassed all at the same time... Ah, canon... it's so cute and smitten (unless we are talking about the RobinxSlade canon vibe, which could never be cute, or anything that rhymed with 'mitten' for that matter...)

Well, I love me some reviews. Make me happy. :)


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